My lovely driver Tia took me out to a roofless house near exit 19. It was a sunny day. She read in the grass while I performed/made photographs in the space. The melodic beep of my camera's self timer lulled her off to sleep.
The space I found was excellent. I interacted with it. This is what came of it.
Doors and windows. . .
Always hiding from the light. . .
Performing in space. . .
I am beginning to think of billing myself as a "performance artist." The longer I spend as an art student the more I become accustomed to the fact that an artist is as much the persona he or she projects as the work he/she does. I don't want to go as far as Warhol, but I recognize how I market my working methods are at least as important as the work created. That is, if I ever want to depend on my art for my income, which I don't necesarily want to do. That being said, I do perform in these spaces. The more I am asked about my working methods the more I find that it is true. I find so much inspiration from the space, it is literally an elated feeling, because I know the most intriguing spaces yield the most compelling results, the most compelling photographs. I find myself drawn to perform in the space, yet only in the most ambiguous of ways, and sometimes hinting at a narrative, walking through the frame or gazing into the distance. Other times I perform strange or banal actions, seemingly meaningless, perhaps symbolic but not determinably so. I am often hiding, sometimes I seem dead. 
I am beginning to think of billing myself as a "performance artist." The longer I spend as an art student the more I become accustomed to the fact that an artist is as much the persona he or she projects as the work he/she does. I don't want to go as far as Warhol, but I recognize how I market my working methods are at least as important as the work created. That is, if I ever want to depend on my art for my income, which I don't necesarily want to do. That being said, I do perform in these spaces. The more I am asked about my working methods the more I find that it is true. I find so much inspiration from the space, it is literally an elated feeling, because I know the most intriguing spaces yield the most compelling results, the most compelling photographs. I find myself drawn to perform in the space, yet only in the most ambiguous of ways, and sometimes hinting at a narrative, walking through the frame or gazing into the distance. Other times I perform strange or banal actions, seemingly meaningless, perhaps symbolic but not determinably so. I am often hiding, sometimes I seem dead.
So what am I doing? Making photographs? Or documenting a series of mini-performances, enacted alone, no witness but myself and the camera. No proof but the photograph.
I suppose I could think of it that way, but unless it was always me composing the documentation, I would not accept it. And the performance is enacted specifically for the purposes of documentation. And I insist on using color film, not digital. Certainly not the most convenient method to record a performance. So I suppose I hold on to my photographic roots yet.
But when I ask myself, if someone took my camera away, what kind of art would I make, and then I ask myself, if someone took my body away, then what kind of art would I make, well. . . I think I have more trouble answering the second.
